


the two of them

by amongthieves



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amongthieves/pseuds/amongthieves
Summary: Their weekend passes are used to get off base and get piss drunk. Hours tick by and feelings become apparent.





	the two of them

The two pilots are always seen together. 

‘ _Look at Collins and Farrier,_ ’ the men say, eyes on two of them when they’re on base, usually sitting on crates around one of the Spitfires that needs maintenance. ‘ _Look at the two of them.’_

_‘Those two always have their heads ‘round something._ ’

And it’s true.

There’s a sense of admiration that Collins feels towards Farrier, though he would never admit it out loud. Instead, he utters in a ' _thank you’_ when Farrier teaches him something about his plane that he hadn’t known before, even through basic training. They check the gauges, make sure everything’s in running order before they take off for their next mission together. Collins feels his equal, even though Farrier’s easily ten years older than him.

He remembers the first time he shook Farrier’s hand, a solid but keen grasp. There had been men Collins had met that shook their hands to assert dominance, and he wasn’t here for that.

Ferrier is exactly his kind of bloke. Good at cards, too.

—

“Dunkirk’s kind of gone to shit, innit?” Ferrier grumbles over a pint, the two of them taking advantage of their weekend passes in a dingy hotel bar. They leave in two days to provide air coverage for the Destroyers making their way across the Channel, and it has Collins on edge but Farrier remains his cool, frosty self. 

This is their last night on leave before they have to return back to base.

Collins leans back in his chair, exhaling a heavy sigh after he finishes his pint. He raises his empty glass and Farrier grins, sitting up and grabbing the glass out of his hand as he heads to the bar. Collins lets his head drop, eyes drifting across the table and their half finished game of Old Maid. He tries not to think about the fear that settles in at night, that grips him to his very core, makes him puke when no one’s around. Him and Farrier share a bunk, and he’s never seen him struggle at night. He seems to pass out without a moment’s notice when his head hits the pillow. Collins wishes he had that kind of luck. It always takes him at least an hour to fall asleep. Sometimes, he never does.

“Cheers, mate.” Farrier returns with two full glasses, setting Collins' down on the table and a slop of foam spills onto the cards. They were already sticky to begin with. 

“Aye. Cheers.” Collin mumbles, reaching forward clumsily to grab his glass, fatigue setting in heavy. After their workout this morning, he had done nothing but run errands around the camp, not leaving him much down time (not that he had much anyways, and if he did, it was usually spent with Farrier). 

They drink in silence, wiping off the cards to continue their game. The hours on the clock tick by and the bartender tells them that it’s last call, which has Collins groaning. He hasn’t tried to stand since his last piss break, and that was well over two hours ago. When they both finally stumble out into the street, the moon hangs behind one of the churches. It’s well past two in the morn but they’re singing war songs, arms wrapped around each other’s necks.

Farrier lights a smoke once they reach the end of their song, Collins still singing — “Forty carefree aircrew, what a happy sight. No more Blanky Beauforts to fly into the night!”

“Very nice, very nice.” Farrier laughs and claps and Collins does a little bow before he takes the cigarette from between Farrier’s lips. He takes a large drag, coughing, before he tries for round two. It just goes as well as the first drag and he gives up, handing it back to a smiling Farrier. “Can’t ruin those singing lungs of yours. Have you thought of Broadway after the war?”

“Can’t say it’s crossed my mind.” 

“I’m going to own a pub.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And Collins can picture it, Farrier behind the counter, mixing drinks. It seems too much like a civilian thing, but if this war ends, that’s all they’ll ever be. Two men in normalcy. Although Collins feels like he’ll never know normalcy again.

“Sounds quaint.”

“It sounds very good to me.” 

As they walk down the street, Collins knows they’ll be in shit if they come back to base piss drunk, so he takes his time. They amble down the cobblestone side streets, shoulders dragging against the alley walls. They must look like hooligans, and Collins can’t remember the last time he’s had this much fun off base. It reminds him of his young self, drunk off stolen scotch, running about with the lads causing whatever trouble their asses could get them into.

They stop and Collins can’t seem to think of anything else when Farrier’s back is pushed up against the wall, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. The orange glow of the streetlamp doesn’t quite reach them, and Collins can almost see Farrier’s frustrated expression as he can’t find his lighter. Collins reaches into his pocket and pulls out Farrier’s lighter, stolen from earlier in the day, and Farrier snorts when he sees it.

“I borrowed it for a bit. Mine ran out.” Collins smiles and he leans into Farrier, the flicker of the flame igniting the end of the cigarette. The light illuminates Farrier’s face, cheeks flushed and eyes closed, as he inhales deeply, a plume of smoke blowing out into Collins face as he forgets to take a step back. He stumbles, chuckling as he drops his head onto Farrier’s shoulder, the scent of smoke, beer, and cheap aftershave filling the little space between them.

“Careful, mate. Don’t want to set your jacket on fire.” Farrier tilts his head back and Collins is still laughing, a sudden prick catching the back of his throat. Moments like this seem suspended in time. There is no war, there is no army; there’s just the two of them here, drunk and joyous. It makes his body tense, to think of going back. 

He loves the sky, but he loves being here with Farrier more. Being _alive_ with him.

“You alright, Jack?”

“I’m good.” He pulls back, plucking the cigarette out of Farrier’s fingers, much to his annoyance. He takes a drag and coughs, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s been a while since he’s had one, only stealing Farrier’s lighter out of a need to have something of his on his person. 

As he’s finishing the smoke, flicking it to the ground and grinding it under his boot, he notices Farrier looking at him. 

“What? You feeling okay?”

Collins realizes he needs to put some space between them, just in case anyone shows up, and he goes to take a step backwards but Farrier grabs the front of his collar. 

“Hey—”

It seems like it happens too fast, Farrier’s mouth on his, cigarettes and shit beer, pushing him onto the other side of the alley. Their legs stumble over, bumping into each other, and Collins is trying his best to breathe but he can’t. 

“God, I fucking love you, Collins.” Farrier inhales sharply, hands roaming over his chest and over his hips, head tucked into the crook of Collin’s neck. Collins is too shocked at his words to utter a response, his arms wrapping around the older man and holding him close, feeling their pounding hearts beat against their chests. He presses his lips into his brown hair, smelling the smoke that never quite leaves Farrier’s presence.

“Farrier—” He wants to tell him to stop, that they’ll be found and kicked out of the RAF, but something in the deep pit of his chest has his hands reaching to cup Farrier’s face, pulling him into a proper kiss. They’re both sloppy, their drunk mouthes struggling to find a rhythm with each other but Collins doesn’t care. His hands reach around to bunch at the back of Farrier’s jacket, and Farrier’s grip loosens, and it’s his turn to cradle Collin’s face in his hands. “I had no idea.”

“Shut up.” Farrier’s voice is a low growl, and Collins abides. It’s not until they hear the smash of a bottle that they both jump, looking at their surroundings. No one’s around, but they can hear drunken laughter of a group of men in the distance. Another bottle breaks. Just horseplay. With this realization, the two of them look at each other. It’s different than before, Collins can’t quite put his finger down on why, and Farrier reaches out and for a moment, Collins flinches. Thinks that Farrier’s changed his mind, is reaching out to hurt him—

It’s another kiss, a little less rough this time, and Collin happily leans into it. Just as he thinks they’re going to kick it up a notch, Farrier steps back and pulls out another smoke. He lights it and begins to walk, beckoning for Collins to follow him. Almost dizzy from the sudden change of pace, Collins follows on his heel, a little shy.

Men like Farrier, they don’t kiss other men like that. They knock ‘em to the ground with a heavy fist for even speaking about it. Collins feels a little flicker of fear but he pushes it out of mind, knowing that Farrier isn’t the kind of guy to do that kind of perverse thing. He can’t be. Not after they’ve gone off the deep end like that.

He’s waiting for Farrier to say something about it, but he knows Farrier doesn’t say much, so Collins follows his silence as they begin to walk towards base. It’s going to be a long walk, but Collins figures he’ll be sobered up by the time they reach the perimeter. After all, Farrier’s sudden silence is like a bucket of ice water’s been dumped on him, and it puts him in almost a foul mood. 

“Why ya givin’ me the cold shoulder, Farrier?” Collins snaps out, halfway through their walk of silence. After flicking away his fourth cigarette, and Collins can’t help but commend him but chain-smoking so heavily without breaking stride, Farrier stops and looks at Collins. His face is fierce, and Collins can see why so many of the younger men are scared off by a simple look. 

“I wasn’t jokin’ bout what I said back there.”

“Well, I figured.”

Farrier narrows his brow and turns to keep walking. Suddenly, it hits Collins.

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” Collins starts to laugh, and it has him in stitches as the realization sinks in further. Farrier’s a sentimental, and he doesn’t even have the guts to say it. His sudden outburst of laughter earns him a string of curses from Farrier, and a couple of odd curses that he wouldn’t even say out of earshot of his gran. “I love you too, Farrier.” 

The words seem to shut Farrier up, but Collins catches the small smile on his face as he turns away. Collins falls back into stride with him, watching down the road. They’re lucky that a sober private driving back an inebriated officer offers them a lift back to base. They both sit in the back, Collins squeezing Farrier’s hand when he feels the man reach for him. It’s quick, but it’s enough for him to realize that whatever they had has changed.

It makes the unease about Dunkirk so much worse.


End file.
